


On Murder Considered as One of the Fine Arts

by lucky_like_St_Sebastian



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Bible, Curse of the ninth, Fine Arts, Gen, M/M, Mindfuck, Ovid, Platonic love (in the original sense of the term), Poetry, Questionable gnosticism, Reference Overdosed, Some Postmodern bullshit, The Musical Offering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 01:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8124535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucky_like_St_Sebastian/pseuds/lucky_like_St_Sebastian
Summary: "On Murder Considered as one of the Fine Arts" is originally a book by Thomas de Quincey, and it is the most delightful text about the aesthetic appreciation of murder ever written. If I were Will, I'd definitely give it to Hannibal as a Christmas gift.





	

You are an unreliable narrator,  
I am your gentle discriminating reader.  
You tell your story by the wounds, and scars, and traumas,  
I lend my body as a substitute for paper. 

You are Renaissance man, I am your patron.  
I am a patron of all arts you’ve ever practiced.  
As you complete your work, I venerate you;  
the river turns to blood, and you are Baptist. 

I see you draw, but seldom see the drawings.  
And when I take a peek inside your sketchbook  
I see that Zephyr walks away from trembling Flora,  
And lets her go, and beats his path to Hyacinth.

If you are God, you’re gnostic Demiurge.  
Corrupted, flawed, you sculpt me in the dark;  
All red with clay you see, as I emerge,  
Your own self-portrait. I’m your lookalike.

I give you theme,  
and you compose the fugue,  
which is a riddle fugue for me to solve.  
The theremin longs for your touch,  
it weeps and whines.  
I wonder if you have composed your ninth.

**Author's Note:**

> "On Murder Considered as one of the Fine Arts" is originally a book by Thomas de Quincey, and it is the most delightful text about the aesthetic appreciation of murder ever written. If I were Will, I'd definitely give it to Hannibal as a Christmas gift.


End file.
